Twist of Fates
by Chenoa
Summary: Clarice and Hannibal's life takes unexpected detour down the road of fate- going to be a lot of chapters- laying groundwork for other characters
1. Ari and Clarice's first encounter- Ari's...

I have no claim to the characters of Clarice or Hannibal. I'm gaining nothing by this writing other than some self-satisfaction. 

____________________________________________________________________________________

The shop clerk, Chloe, is hovering at the edge of the parlor area that is just adjacent to the dressing rooms. She has the look of a piranha in her eyes and the stance of one ready to attack. I can almost hear the mental calculations ringing in her head as she figures out her commissions on the possible sales. She smiles encouragingly at me but does not approach. Chloe is obviously more interested in the occupant in one of the changing rooms. I'm not offended in the least. Chloe can shower her attention on that helpless victim. I prefer not to be overly bothered by the shop help when I am selecting outfits. 

"Ah, Madame, that dress is utterly fabulous on you!" Chloe crows as a woman steps out into the parlor. "The color makes your eyes shine like the clear skies over the seas."

I turn slightly to catch a better look at the auburn haired woman who has come out. I can only see her profile. Chloe flutters around her blocking my view. She is wearing a sea blue colored full-length evening gown. I let my gaze linger as I consider her in the ensemble. The cut and the style of the dress are adequate but lend nothing to her look. The color is absolutely hideous on her in my opinion. She would do better in the colors of cream, coral or an emerald green. 

Our eyes meet when she turns in my direction. I involuntarily freeze in place, feel my eyes widen and my stomach flutter. I suppress a shudder as I see this woman face on. She is almost identical in looks and movements to my childhood companion Mischa. I quickly turn away and feign interest in my own apparel. I want nothing more than to bolt. The pain of Mischa's death is threatening to start snapping at my heart. It has been six years but time has not eased the lost. 

"The hemline might be lifted a bit…" I hear Chloe start to say but she never finishes her sentence. 

"Please, I would like a few moments to consider this Chloe. I will speak to you when I have made a decision." The voice is directly behind me. There is silence as Chloe steps away. 

I can feel the woman's focus as she scrutinizes me. I sigh inwardly cursing my reactions that have drawn her attention. I have no wish to interact with this female. I know that I have no choice. I take a deep breath and turn to face her.

"Good afternoon." I lamely say. I look briefly at her face and turn my gaze to look past her. 

"Good afternoon." She replies. 

She repositions herself so I have no option but to look her in the eyes. We stare at each other for a long moment. I am lost in a flood of memories. This woman's face and posture is unreadable to me. She hides herself well. My senses tell me that she is a bit alarmed by my reaction to her. 

"You had such a startled look when you saw me. Is this dress so hideous that it should be burned, perhaps?" She breaks the silence.

"Hideous is a bit strong, but, it's not the most complimentary choice for you in color or form. Have you considered a Vera Wang?" I answer her in a rush of conversation. "I think that her simple elegant style would be very flattering to you. I believe there's a shop just down the plaza that has a wonderful selection of her designs."

"You must mean Marcelle's Boutique." She steps closer to me. "I am quite familiar…" 

She does not finish her sentence. I know what she is asking me indirectly. I decide that my best course of action is to address this embarrassing situation head on.

"I must apologize for my earlier actions when I first say you. I meant no offense. You bear a striking resemblance to a dear friend who died a few years ago. I was just overwhelmed with things." I answer her. I cannot gauge her physical reaction but my instinct tells me I have sent up more warning bells in her.

"You are not an American." She replies in a flat tone of voice. 

"No, I'm from Australia." I fumble in my efforts to ease this predicament. "I'm an Israeli by birth. I've called Sydney home for five years now. My name is Ari Levison."

"I'm Claire. Claire Dante. I'm originally from San Francisco but my husband and I have been in Buenos Aires for the past few years." She extends her hand to me. "May I ask, what was your friend's name, Ari?"

"Mischa." I watch Claire's eyes widen and surprise overtake her face. 


	2. Clarice's viewpoint continues the first ...

I suppose I better put in the mandatory disclaimer. I don't have any claim to Clarice or Hannibal other than my enjoyment of the characters. I am not making any profit or gain from the use of these characters. I am having a bit of a thrill of putting down in words the story line that has been roaming around in my head for the past year. I have nothing to sue for other than an old computer, unused floppy disks and an assortment of knick-knacks. I promise to put Clarice and Hannibal back in the box after I am done playing with them. They just wanted to come out for a while.

This is the story of two characters Ari and Alex that come to be integral part of the happy couple of Lecter and Starling's life. 

Clarice "Claire Dante"

I sharply pull in a lung full of air to mask any sound that may escape me. I am totally taken aback by the name of Mischa rolling off of the tongue of this woman who calls herself Ari. I stare hard at her regarding her facial expressions for any indication of deception. I see nothing there or in the language of her body that speaks of trickery. I instinctively focus on her eyes. There is a genuine pain there that I can feel in the visceral part of me.

My mind is frantically analyzing this bizarre encounter. I have prepared myself both mentally and physically for almost any possible scenario that may be thrown at me. This is one curve that I could never have anticipated in a million hours of pondering. I doubt that even Hannibal would have pulled this one out of his meticulous mental gymnastics. 

If I were to act in an entirely pragmatic manner I'd end this encounter and walk away. I would have Alex track her discretely and gather information. That way I could see if there's any possibility of danger or discovery that could imperil our lives. If this would be the case than the appropriate intervention could be implemented for the safety of Hannibal and I.

The capricious part of me is intrigued. I know that there are only three people alive that are aware of Hannibal's sister Mischa. That would be Alex, Hannibal and I. It would be a far stretch for this to be an elaborate ruse to get to us. This might just be some strange coincidence or odd circumstance. G-d knows that my life has run down that road many a time. If there is one thing I have come to savor it's the chaos factor. It always brings an interesting flavor to the twist and turns of life. 

I continue to scrutinize her. I watch the redness of embarrassment creep up from her chest into her face. Ari twists one foot behind the other and her body starts to do a nervous bob. It gives me the impression of her being an errant schoolgirl. I suppress a chuckle. I decide that a compromise between the two extremes is in order. I'll engage her in some conversation and see where it leads us. I'll have Alex shadow her and obtain the necessary information so we can investigate her. If anything seems amiss it can be dealt with effectively. I break the awkward silence after deciding on my plan of action. 

"Mischa." I parrot back to her watching her for a reaction. There is no change in her body language. "That's a different name. It sounds Russian. I've heard it before I think." I watch her eyes register the fact that I am deliberately downplaying my response.

"Well, I am certainly sorry that I disturbed you Ms. Dante. Good day." Ari responds back to me. She turns towards the dressing rooms and starts to walk away.

"Ms. Levison." I impulsively call to her. She stops and turns to look at me. "If you have the time and inclination perhaps we could investigate Marcelle's together. It would be a pleasure to have some fresh input from someone unbiased in choosing an outfit. I absolutely need to find something for opening night at the orchestra."

Ari doesn't answer me right away. I can see her taking stock of things in her own mind. The indecision leaves her as she smiles at me suddenly. I know her answer before it is out of her mouth. She is going to say yes.

"That sounds like a plan. I have to come up with some sort of fancy getup myself for the very same event. My wardrobe isn't quite up to snuff for it. That's why I'm out shopping this afternoon." 

"Really? What a coincidence." I am suddenly suspicious. I know for a fact that unless you have season tickets or excellent connections you couldn't get a seat. "It has been sold out for months. Where are your seats?"

"In the string section, third chair." Ari laughs. "I'm substituting for some poor musician who broke her fingers in an accident. I play the violin."

''


	3. Alex enters the scenerio

Alex Thantos

**__**

I'm people watching as I wait outside the latest "boutique" that Clarice is exploring. This is one of her favorite shops. She frequently finds outfits here that appeal to her sense of style. I was secretly relieved that she expressed a desire to shop alone this afternoon. I don't think I could have abided an afternoon of sitting around in the dress shops. If she had requested my presence I would have been more than happy to accompany her in. 

I would gladly do anything that she asked of me. Clarice is a precious gem in my life. I adore her with every fiber of my body and soul. She will always have all of my attention, devotion, friendship and protection that I can give. I suppose that it sounds like I am hopelessly in love with her. I am, of course, but it is not hopeless in any way. She has the same feelings for me. The words have been spoken between us. Clarice is my lover in every sense except for the physical aspect. The words I write that expresses my bond to Clarice apply equally to Hannibal. 

I have been in the company of Clarice and Hannibal for three years now. I met them on the Isle of Crete one late spring evening. Our meeting was pure coincidence in practical terms but it took on dimensions that could almost be reckoned as magical. That encounter was the start of us as a sort of unique entity. The story of us, as a trio, is a long one that would be better addressed later. 

I am watching two merchants arguing with each other over the location of their carts on the street when I notice Clarice exit the boutique. I am surprised to see her arm hooked through the arm of another female. I can hear Clarice's laughter as they step out onto the sidewalk. We make brief eye contact as I start to approach. Clarice gives me hand signals that let me know she is safe but to keep at a distance and follow. I do as she has indicated to me taking care to blend into the crowd anonymously.

The women stroll leisurely down the boulevard without any obvious destination. I am somewhat at a loss as how to interpret all of this. Clarice has never token up with a total stranger before. I know that she must have some sort of agenda but I am clueless as to what it might be. I know instinctively that Clarice is not concerned about anything. I would further venture that she is intrigued with this female for some reason. I continue to trail at a respectable distance. 

I start to consider the woman that is accompanying Clarice. She stands just a bit taller than Clarice does by perhaps an inch. That would put her at roughly five foot nine. She has a long lithe dancer's build. She moves with ease but there is a bearing about her that strikes me as markedly military. She has sunset red hair that hangs in thick waves halfway down her back. She is fair skinned with a light dusting of freckles. I see her face straight on when she and Clarice veer off to a sidewalk table of a bistro. She has brilliant green eyes. I decide that she must be Irish or Scotch.

"This place has wonderful latte." Clarice says. "It's absolutely delicious and wickedly delightful in its taste. Shall we Ari?"

"That sounds like a good idea. My feet and brains could use a rest from everything."

My attention becomes more focused when I hear Ari's voice. It is almost devoid of any hint of an accent that would give away its origin. There is a slight nuance that tells me she is from the Middle East. I would speculate that she is Israeli. 

"Is this your first visit to Argentina?" Clarice asks. "Buenos Aires has so much to explore. You could find something to keep you occupied for months."

I settle in to a table slightly to the left of them. Clarice glances in my general direction. She signals me that everything is fine. I continue to watch this encounter between Clarice and Ari.

"Yes. It's my first time in South America as a matter of fact. I was just in Cape Town a week ago doing some shoots." Ari smiles at Clarice. "Ian, an old mate of mine, from Sydney is one of the guest conductors this season. He enticed me over with the offer of playing with the orchestra. I couldn't refuse." 

"Ian Braniff? I believe we met him at the fun raiser last month." Clarice is searching for some tame words to describe the man. "He made a grand flamboyant entrance. You couldn't miss him unless you were Helen Keller. He's, err, quite colorful." 

"Colorful?" Ari chuckles. "He absolutely screams. He's the epitome of a show horse. Ian is actually tame and boring in private."

The two are off in light chat for the next two hours. I'm amused watching them. Clarice and Ari are giggling and carrying on like a pair of teenagers at a slumber party. I watch their chairs creep closer together as they enter into each other's personal space. It's obvious that the two are meshing well. 

It's after my fifth cup of latte that nature calls. Ari looks directly at me when I stand up. I have the distinct impression that her eyes are following me when I walk away. I have a sinking feeling that I've been found out. I linger in the rest room for a good ten minutes before I step out. I am rounding the corner back to the main street when Ari steps out in front of me. Ours eyes lock in a deadly silence.

"Are you tracking me?" she hisses.

The next sequence of events is a bit of a blur for me. I know that Ari butts me with her forearm in the solar plexus. The next distinct memory is of me being flat on my back with her knee pressed hard into my groin and a knife at my throat. She is looming threateningly over me. There is a fierce look in her eyes. 

I make no move against her. She starts speaking to me in a language that I can only guess to be Arabic. I'm persuaded by its tone that she is not saying flattering things to me. A shadow suddenly appears over us and Ari freezes.

"Ari, let him up. This is my friend Alex." Clarice's voice is sweet music to my ears. 

Ari retracts her blade from my neck and stands up. She backs away slowly. I see the gun in Clarice's hand.

Ari's gaze darts between us. She starts to edge away from us.

"I don't know what kind of game you two are playing. I suggest you find another playmate. I'm not to be fucked with." Ari speaks in a scorching voice. She turns on her heels and is off. 

****


	4. Clarice interrupts Ari and Alex

I suppose I better put in the disclaimer. I own nothing of the characters Clarice and Hannibal. I'm only setting them loose in my private fantasyland. They will return to Mr. Harris intact. There is no one gain I am making on any of this.

Clarice

I knew something was a foot when neither Alex nor Ari returned to the tables after ten minutes. I decided that it would probably behoove me to investigate things. I had an unsettling feeling that their paths had crossed before formal introductions could be made. I checked the restrooms first. There was no sign of either of them. 

I heard a slight noise coming from the deserted side street and made my way there. I rounded the corner to see Alex prone on the ground with Ari on top of him. She is brandishing a knife at his throat and uttering obvious threats in an unfamiliar language. I am taken aback for a moment. I can't imagine how Ari got the upper hand on Alex. It would be hilarious under any other circumstances.

I intervene swiftly by drawing my Glock and leveling it into the base of Ari's spine. She wisely freezes and follows my instructions of backing off of Alex. She moves away immediately sputtering warnings. Ari is gone before I can say anything more. To be honest, I have no idea what I would have said at that point.

"Well, are you done lounging?" I ask Alex. He gets up to his feet and his gaze follows the direction that Ari has left in.

"Yes, I certainly am. I must say what a delight it was to see you show up Clarice." Alex smiles lamely at me. "Things were getting a bit sticky."

"How did she manage to get you in that position? I've never seen anyone but Hannibal get the upper hand on you." 

"She sucker punched me and the rest is a unclear." Alex answers me. "It happened so quick. I wasn't expecting to get rolled by her."

"Well, I suppose we better decide what to do now." I hold up the shopping bag and purse that belong to Ari. "I've got her things right here."

"Perhaps we should just call it a day and go home. I've had enough." I nod in agreement to Alex's words. 

We start to walk back to the main street. We both are glancing around. There is no sign of Ari that we can find. I wasn't expecting to see any trace of her to be frank. My thoughts are that she has made a beeline for her lodgings. I wonder if she realizes that I have her purse. 

It's a short walk to the Jaguar. There is no conversation between Alex and I. I know that we are both processing this experience in our minds. Once we are settled in the vehicle and are out on the main road back to the villa I open Ari's handbag. I wouldn't really consider it to be a purse. It really is more of a backpack. It is crammed full of the common variety of things that woman stuff in purses. 

I take out the wallet first to exam the contents. It has the usual assortment of credit cards, identification, and currency. There's nothing terribly informative there. I glance briefly at it. I pull out the make up case next. I set it aside without looking at it. I glance at Alex and see him taking quick peaks at me as I delve in the bag.

"There's nothing exciting so far. It's looking pretty boring." I tell him. 

I search a bit deeper into the purse. My attention is caught when I see a well-worn leather case that looks like a daily planner. I scoop it out. It is thick and heavy. I pull the zipper down to expose the contents. A passport is on top.

"Very foolish, Ari. You shouldn't be roaming around with your passport so accessible." I say in scolding voice as I open it. Alex chuckles at my words.

"I'm sure…" Alex starts but I cut him off in a low urgent tone.

"Pull over now." I am shaking as I stare at the passport. Alex glides the car to the side of the road. 

"What?" Alex asks. 


	5. Ari's sleepless night

The characters of Hannibal and Clarice don't belong to me. They are the sole property of Mr. Harris and whomever he contracted them out to. I like to borrow them. I am gaining nothing in my writing. 

Arielle Levison

It's three o'clock in the morning and all I can do is pace. I'm surprised that I have not worn a path in the carpet. It's a good thing that the floors are made out of a thick concrete otherwise the people below me would be awake too.

The rendezvous with the woman named Claire and her hiding friend named Alex has disturbed me. The uncanny resemblance of Claire to Mischa is haunting me. The physical similarity of the two was striking enough on its own. The parallelism of how Claire carried herself, how she moved and even the sound of her laughter mirrored that of my Mischa. The only blatant difference was the choice of words and the sound of the voice. The whole time I spent with Claire had a dreamlike quality to it. It was as if Mischa was with me again. I tremble just thinking about it.

I can't understand why the man named Alex was 'chaperoning' us from a distance. It doesn't make any logical sense. It is obvious that it was done with the knowledge and approval of Claire. The whole situation is just plain odd. Everyday people don't do this sort of thing unless they are extremely paranoid or have something to hide.

My mind wanders to think on the fact that when Claire and I first took note of each other an element of surprise and suspicion around her. I know that she was shocked when I said the name of Mischa. She was evasive in an off beat way the way she minimized things. I have no clue as to why it would be an issue but it sure presents itself that way. If it was so disturbing to her why did she open herself up for further conversation. It just doesn't jive in my thoughts. I guess that I'll never have an answer.

The incident with Alex reminded me of my own paranoia. It became plain after the first hour that he was observing me. I didn't connect him to Claire at all. I thought he was an Arab, probably an agent on my trail. I confronted him because of my conjecture. When I started threatening him in Arabic the look in his eyes told me he didn't understand what I was saying. I didn't have a change to change tactics because Claire had the gum pressed into my back at that point. The most advantageous move for me at that point was to make a quick exit.

I stop my pacing and sit down on the bed. I am exhausted both physically and mentally. All I want to do is just lie down and sleep. I desperately wish that I could put all of this out of my mind. I yearn for the ability to just erase all of it. My true preference would be if I could just rewrite it. I would change most of the chapters of my life.

The first thing that would be altered would be my tenure in the Mossad. There would be no memories embedded in me of the things I participated in. The endlessness of nerve wracking planning, the raw terror of carrying out assignments wouldn't weigh on me. There would be no blood on my hands. The anguish of loosing my comrades wouldn't exist. My life would be free of the shadows of apprehensions and paranoia. I would have no reason for the constant vigilance and anxiety that follows me. I could live my life without the after effects of any of it. 

The other thing I would change is the fact that Mischa is dead. She would still be alive now if I could have things my way. We would be happy wives raising children somewhere in a peaceful place. I smile to myself at that thought. The picture of a happy home life with children and a husband would be a far stretch for us. Mischa and I had other plans. We were going to roam the world like a pair of modern day drifters. We had so many talks of the places and the things we wanted to see and do. We were to see the shrines and temples in India. We should have stood at the base of the Himalayas in Nepal taking in the wonders of it all. The cities of Rome, Venice, Florence, Athens were to have been explored by us. Their ancient wonders drawing out our imagination. We wanted to swim in every sea and ocean. Mischa and I would see a thousand sunrises and sunsets wherever we happened to be. We imagined how it would be to stand at the gates of Auschwitz and Dachau and to revel in the marvel of that feat. Our very existences being both a miracle and triumph in spite of the Nazis. Our parents had come from the camps of Germany. The tears are starting to well in my eyes. I have done all of these things with only her spirit at my side. 

The tears come now. I feel them streak down my face as I lay flat on the bed. I pray that I will fall into a dreamless sleep. That I can escape all this cerebral churning. 


	6. Hannibal learns about the encounter

The standard disclaimer applies. I own nothing of these characters; I am making no profit or gain from the use of Hannibal and Clarice. Mr. Harris owns all rights to them. I have nothing to sue for unless you want my dog that has decided he doesn't like it when I start to work on the computer. 

THE BIG TRANSITITION TO THIRD PERSON****

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The loud roar of the Jaguar and the subsequent squeal of tires reverberate all the way up to the second level of the residence. The lone figure in the house stops his piano playing in mid stroke when he hears the noise. A hint of distaste can be seen when his brow furrows slightly. He hates the distraction of any noise while he is playing. That's why the house has been cleared of the staff for the afternoon. The man is also surprised that Alex would be so reckless with the vehicle. Alex is the designated driver on shopping outings with Clarice. He is usually a prudent and careful driver almost to an annoying fault.

Hannibal Lecter, known as Doctor Leonardo Dante in Buenos Aires, is poised to resume his playing when the slamming of the front door interrupts him. He is further distracted when he hears the frantic calling of his name by Clarice. He sighs in frustration while wondering what could possibly be amiss. There is an unmistakable tone of urgency in Clarice's voice. This means something has disturbed her greatly. Clarice is not one given to any sort of hysterics. Hannibal gets up from the piano and crosses the sitting room to the top of the stairs. He stops in the middle of the room. He hears the light footsteps of Clarice as she hurries across the foyer towards the staircase. The heavier steps of Alex echo behind hers.

"Clarice. I'm in the sitting room." Hannibal says when he hears her climbing the stairs.

Clarice is up the staircase in a matter of seconds with Alex right behind her. There is a panicky wide-eyed look pasted on her face. Alex's facial expression mirrors concern. His eyes are almost black as obsidian. There is a flush to both of their skin tones and the smell of adrenaline permeates them. The two of them are in an alarm mode. Hannibal remains calm as they both cross the room towards him.

Clarice is carrying a rather large, well-worn backpack in her hands that he has never seen before. Alex has a small bundle of papers and photos in his hands. Clarice moves to the coffee table, sweeps the books and vase to the side of it with little regard to the items. She dumps the contents of the bag onto the table in a heap. She fishes out a passport from the mess and thrusts it at Hannibal.

"What is this about Clarice?" Hannibal asks without reaching for the document. He senses the anger building in Clarice, as he remains idle. He tries to diffuse the tension with his next statement. "Have you and Alex taken up the poaching of ladies satchels?"

"Save the wise ass remarks Hannibal. I suggest you look at it." Clarice retorts. 

Hannibal takes the item from Clarice wordlessly. He opens it deliberately and flips through the pages one at a time. Clarice starts to tap her foot in annoyance. Hannibal closes the book, sets it back down on the table as he takes a seat. He looks at Clarice and Alex with an expressionless face.

"I see nothing to be disturbed about Clarice." Hannibal says. "What concerns you and Alex about this?"  
"Excuse me? I can't believe you missed the birth date." Clarice points out to him with an aggravated tone in her voice. "Isn't that a tad familiar to you Doctor?"

"I certainly noted that Clarice. It's the same as yours." Hannibal adjusts himself in the sofa. "This Arielle Rachael Levison has the same birthday as you. Is that what has you two so disturbed?"

"That's part of it."

"I hardly see how that can get you into an uproar…"

"I swear, I could strangle you sometimes." Clarice is clearly irked. "There's more to it than just that."

"Well, may I suggest you get to the point, my dear." Hannibal answers in a somewhat annoyed tone. "This is quickly becoming tiring."

"You should take a look at these photos Hannibal." Alex speaks for the first time. He hands a small stack to Hannibal. "This might change the perspective a bit."

Hannibal takes the snapshots. He looks at them one at a time. The look on his face becomes more rigid as he surveys each one. His head snaps up when he comes to the last one. The maroon color in his eyes is glowing with deliberation. He lays the photos on the table.

"She calls the woman Mischa." Clarice's voice drops to a whisper. "She looks exactly like me Hannibal. The pictures showing them as children. It could be me at that age. It's frightening."

"They look to be original. The older pictures especially. They'd be difficult to fake or doctored." Alex sits down on the couch. 

"I suggest you start at the beginning." Hannibal says while staring at the images.


End file.
